


Oh Baby, You Could Devastate Me

by Summerfields (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bullying, Dark Humor, Explicit Language, Homophobic Language, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4806536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Summerfields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek gestured towards Stiles' cup. “What the fuck are you drinking?”</p><p>“I’m not sure, I think it's vodka. It tastes more like nail varnish remover, though.” He said with a grin. Derek seemed to think that was weird, so Stiles’ hurried to add, “-Not that I’ve tried that.” He had. Acetone poisoning was the worst. At least he got drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Baby, You Could Devastate Me

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is 15 in this fic, and Derek is 21.

The ceiling panels were burning Stiles' back as he lied splayed on the rooftop. Smoke lingered into the wind from the lit joint in his mouth.

He shut his eyes and the blood in his eyelids turned everything red, except for a few spots of simmering green; pictures of the sun and the moon etched to his vision. Stiles frowned.

But he opened his eyes and there it was. The moon was round and huge with all its hollows and craters, right next to the sun.

Stiles brought his phone up to snap a picture; but through the cracks, loose pieces of glass and tarnished pixels the moon was nothing but a tiny, hardly visible dot.

With a sigh Stiles put the phone aside. He brought the spliff up to his mouth for another deep drag that made his mind dim pleasantly.

He had asked him yesterday, ‘Why do you talk so much?’ And Stiles had wanted to ask him why the fuck he cared, but that was probably not the best thing to say to someone you’ve dreamt of seeing naked since you were eleven. Stiles had cleared his throat and mumbled, ‘dunno’ before looking the other way.

He had turned his music up and watched people rush by outside the bus station, blocking the sound of Derek snorting in his direction.

Stiles didn’t give a shit, anyway. Derek was up amongst the gods while Stiles was rotting on the ground. He had that fancy car and all those good-looking friends, while Stiles couldn’t even refrain from crying when Jackson hit him too hard. There was no way in hell that Derek would even look at him twice, ever.

* * *

 

Stiles tried to open the door as stealthily as he could, but it was like his dad had some kind of sixth sense alarming him when Stiles was up to no good, because he hadn’t even gotten a foot out the door before there was a distressed voice asking where he was going.

Stiles paused and glanced back with a stifled smile. “Just to Scott’s, dad. Calm down.”

His dad rubbed his face tiredly and sighed, “Call me, if you’re ever in trouble. I used to be the sheriff, you know. There’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Stiles rolled his eyes artificially, and tightened his grip on the doorknob. “Whatever dad. I’ll see you tonight.”

He took one final step out the door and quickly shut it behind him. He didn’t want to look back. He didn’t want to see that sad, resigned look on his dad’s face.

The sun was shining through the small, dirty windows of the staircase leading out from their apartment. The dusty smell of dirty pavement swirled around him peacefully, as he paced down the streets amongst huge, concrete buildings. He checked his bag again and smiled once he caught sight of his dad’s bottles.

* * *

 

The dimly lit basement was crammed with people when Stiles got there. The music was loud enough to ring in his ears, and people turned glassy eyes at him as he clutched to his bottles. 

He found Scott standing by the sink. His eyes were downcast into his phone until Allison nudged him, notifying him of Stiles’ presence. 

“There you are!” Scott exclaimed happily and grabbed his empty cup; raising it into the air. “Let’s get to the booze.”

Allison rolled her eyes and Stiles snickered before unscrewing one of the bottles. He flipped it upside down, letting the clear liquid shower down into the cups.

Anticipation flared through Stiles’ body as he gripped the cup with clammy hands.

“Cheers!”

Stiles took a big gulp, then choked violently when the strong taste of alcohol burned through. His eyes began to water and he quickly swallowed before leaning over the sink, desperately trying to keep everything down.

He glanced towards Scott and noticed that he was quite badly affected himself; eyes squeezed shut and seemingly praying to keep himself from puking.

Allison hadn’t even tried hers, but merely looked at them in a way that declared them as idiots. Scott recovered quickly enough, and looked uncertain for a second before he cheered and raised a fist into the air. “Wooh! That was awesome, dude!”

* * *

Stiles drank away until he saw Derek sitting in one of the sofas. He was wearing his leather jacket. The jacket that hugged his arms in a way that made Stiles’ knees wobble. The screen of Derek’s phone lighted up his eyes; and they were almost blue from this angle.

He felt brave, he was getting drunk, and the song in the background was saying _if you’ve got something to say, why don’t you speak it out loud instead of living in your head?_

The fabric was rough beneath him, the sofa was cheap and old and smelled of deep-seated smoke. He saw Derek looking at him in the corner of his eyes.

He positioned the cup on the table in front of him, and his hands were trembling. What the hell are you doing, Stiles? Do you honestly think a guy like that would be interested in you? You’re a pathetic, ugly piece of shit with no grades. He’ll never-

“Stiles?" 

He quickly reached for his cup again and gulped down the remains with an agonized expression before turning towards Derek. “Hey man. I hope it’s okay that I sit here.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and nodded once, then gestured towards his empty cup. “What the fuck are you drinking?”

“I’m not sure, I think it's vodka. It tastes more like nail varnish remover, though.” He said with a grin. Derek seemed to think that was weird, so Stiles’ hurried to add, “-Not that I’ve tried that,” He had. Acetone poisoning was the worst. At least he got drunk. “-It just reminds me of the smell, you know.”

Derek’s lip twitched into a tiny smile, and Stiles took that as victory. He smiled back as widely as he could until Derek looked awkward and turned back to his phone.

Stiles felt light, and he licked the inside of his mouth. There was warmth in his belly, and he felt happy. A joint in his mouth and he’d be in heaven.

“Do you like vodka?” He interrupted.

“Not really.” Derek replied with a mumble, keeping his gaze at the screen. Stiles was tracing the bones in the roof of his mouth. He shut his eyes and sank back into the knobby cushions, and it was like they swallowed him in.

“You asked me something the other day. Do you remember?”

Even through the music and the jangle of glasswere; the sound of mumbling voices and sneakers squealing against the floor, Stiles could almost hear Derek turning to watch him. It was that familiar tingling sensation that gave it away.

“Our building is not very soundproof. I always hear you talking though the walls.”

Stiles opened his eyes slowly. “I know. Do you want to know something embarrassing?”

Derek frowned but nodded eventually.

“I heard you fucking that girl last week.” He said, smirking in the aftermath. Now that he was drunk he didn’t really care, but he’d felt shattered at the time. He’d been lying in his bed, wondering why no one ever wanted to fuck him. He’d come to the conclusion that it was his blabbering mouth and the fact that his eyes were way too big for his face. 

“Sorry.” Derek seemed a little flustered, looking away toward the crowd of people that were circling each other, crashing their lips together and tasting alcohol through their mouths.

Stiles fidgeted, he didn’t want to make Derek uncomfortable. “Oh. No, it’s fine. I don’t mind hearing you- … I mean, I don’t care.”

A text appeared on the screen of Derek’s phone, and he looked back into it, typing away with quick movements of his fingers. Stiles missed the feeling of having his eyes on him, and he was needlessly jealous at the girl named “Laura” displayed at the top of Derek’s screen.

He remembered that he was supposed to ask something. Derek looked like he was about to leave and that was when Stiles reached out and grabbed his arm, nervousness coursing though his veins. “Uhm, did you know that the door to our rooftop has been removed?” Derek looked at the hand that was clenched into the leather of his jacket. Stiles immediately retracted it and tried to smile, but it turned out nervous. Derek shook his head. “Really? I have to show it to you sometime. You can see all of Beacon Hills, even the lake and the house that burned down. I usually bring my stereo and … yeah- it’s great. The view, I mean.”

Derek didn’t say anything. The flashing lights behind him were distracting and Stiles’ vision was turning blurry. He thought he heard a snort and Stiles didn’t know what to do with that, so he hurried to ask, “Do you want to go up there tomorrow, with me?”

The expression on Derek’s face was stony, and Stiles was braced for rejection. It still hurt.

“You should go there with your friends.” He replied and stood up. The scent of his aftershave lingered for a few seconds after Derek had walked away, and Stiles couldn’t help but breathe it in.

He glanced towards Scott and Allison seated in the corner. Lights danced across their faces as their tongues intertwined. Stiles stood up and walked over to the sink, grabbed an unopened bottle of vodka and pushed his way through the crowd.

Once he got outside, the cold air hit him like a tidal wave. He reached into his pocked for a joint and a lightener. Derek wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and Stiles’ guessed he was on his way home to fuck that girl Laura.

Stiles began to walk home as well, alternating between sipping vodka and inhaling the sweet essence of his spliff. It was unnaturally bright outside, considering the late hour.

He looked up towards the sky and was met with the sight of millions of glimmering stars. The moon was there, too; and it looked even bigger now. It was like a wider, weaker resemblance of the sun.

Stiles was captivated by the sight, and he kept looking back from time to time. He found a great spot by the square, where there were hardly any buildings in the way.

With his gaze up towards the sky, and his mind occupied by the thoughts of planets and suns, he didn’t register the sound of Jackson’s footsteps getting near.

“Looking for your mommy?”

Stiles jumped and almost dropped the bottle he was clutching to. It took him a few seconds to realize whose voice that was, and once he caught sight of the gleeful smirk on that perfectly sculptured face, there was no question about it.

“Get lost.” He replied numbly. Stiles was too tired for this shit. Talking to Jackson was like talking to a brick wall.

“Oh, but you don’t really want me to leave, do you?” Jackson mocked, and stalked up to the other boy with menace. “Fags love cock, I bet that’s why you’re always staring at me.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. That boy thought way too highly of himself. “I’d rather eat horse shit.”

Jackson seemed rather startled at that, and grabbed the collar of Stiles’ jacket. His voice was low when he whispered, “Sounds like a typical fag thing to say, you wanna eat shit, huh?”

Stiles knew he had angered him, but he honestly couldn’t care less, so he laughed. “Are you trying to scare me? Cause’ you’re not scary at all. I can picture you crying yourself to sleep at night, thinking of how your parents abandoned-”

He was shoved back suddenly, and just as he regained his balance, Jackson’s knuckles connected with his face. He was sent flying backwards, and something warm started to trickle down his upper lip, tasting like iron.

Jackson didn’t go easy on him, and his raised hands did nothing to stop the flurry of fists hammered down onto his face.

Just as Stiles began to slip into unconsciousness, the beating stopped and Jackson was thrown off of him. There was a blur of growls, yelps and the sound of something tearing, before everything went white and Stiles drifted off into silence.

He dreamt of running through identical rooms, throwing door after door open, chasing something that he didn’t know. But then Derek appeared, and they began to run together. The rooms turned into mountains and the doors to abrupt cracks in the terrain. The roofs turned into skies and Stiles smiled.

When he woke up and cracked his eyes open, the sunrise was flaring by the horizon. He was suddenly reminded of that time when his dad hade woken him up early to watch the most spectacular sunrise he’d ever seen. “Fuck.” He mumbled while struggling to get up. His dad was going to kill him.

He grabbed the half empty bottle of vodka and limped his way home, face throbbing with each step. He threw the door to their building open and began to run up the stairs. He didn’t stop until he caught sight of the letter slot that said “Derek Hale”. 

He reached into his pocket and found an old receipt, and then reached for the pen in his jacket. He scrabbled the words down onto the piece of paper and then looked back to evaluate his work.

 

_You’re an asshole. Here’s my number:_

_202-555-0112_

_/Stiles_

 

The smile on his face was painful, yet he couldn’t keep it in. His lip began to trickle blood again, but it felt like nothing. He pushed the small piece of paper into the letter slot and proceeded to walk up the remaining stairs.

His dad was still asleep, thank god. Stiles hurried into his room and locked the door. The sun outside the window dyed the clouds all kinds of colors, and Stiles fell asleep as they shifted across his bruised face.


End file.
